


A Moment of Misfortune

by Cryptix23



Category: The Shadow (Pulp)
Genre: Hurt/Comfort, I enjoy this man's pain far too much, M/M, probably medically inaccurate, write all the cliches
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-09
Updated: 2016-05-09
Packaged: 2018-06-07 08:15:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 937
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6796342
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cryptix23/pseuds/Cryptix23
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Shadow has always been fast enough in a crisis to protect his agents, but even he can't defend against a single stroke of bad luck.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Moment of Misfortune

**Author's Note:**

> I asked for prompts on tumblr. This one was "Something like that moment in The Three Garridebs when Watson is shot."

It said something about one's life choices when a frantic gunfight with a half-dozen mobsters was neither an unusual nor unexpected occurrence.

What, exactly, it said, Harry wasn't sure; nor did he care to consider the matter deeply. Providing covering fire was rather a higher priority right now. Harry doubted any of his shots found their marks, but they served their purpose.

Throaty roars of massive automatics brought a smile to Harry's face. The job of taking down the mobsters belonged to those messengers of death. Harry's duty was just to split the mobsters' attention.

Movement behind him caught Harry's eye. He whirled and stepped back in one motion. The move was timely, as the butt of a heavy revolver swung through the air where his head had been only moments before. Momentum still carried the snarling mobster behind the weapon into Harry, knocking him to the floor. Before the enemy had a chance to use his new advantage, the thundering .45s declared his fate. Harry scrambled back to his feet.

He realized his mistake too late. The dodge had taken him out of his cover. He found himself staring down the wrong end of another gun, the face of the mob leader, Rusty Bray, leering over it. If he couldn't get The Shadow, he was determined to at least take down the agent.

Rusty's aim had only taken a second. The Shadow dealt in fractions of seconds. Even as he had swung for Harry's earlier assailant, his keen eyes had spotted Rusty's murderous intent, and no sooner had he loosed that bullet than he was bringing that weapon to bear on Rusty.

Both men's fingers were on their triggers. The Shadow's was a split-second faster -- but it met resistance.

The gun had jammed.

The Shadow's eyes widened a trifle; his breath caught. Heart in his throat, he let the useless gun fall as he swung the other around, but misfortune had stolen his half-second advantage. Rusty's gun barked. At the edge of his vision, Harry jerked with the impact.

The second automatic thundered a moment too late. A leaden messenger delivered his vengeance straight into Rusty's blackened heart.

Seeing their leader fall, the remaining gangsters fled. The Shadow fired a few parting shots to encourage them. He gave no thought to pursuit; his rush carried him in a different direction.

Harry lay motionless where he had fallen. A crimson stain was spreading across the front of his suit. The Shadow dropped to his knees beside his agent, automatic clattering to the ground as he stripped off a glove. Two pale fingers pressed to the artery in Harry's neck. Sensitive fingertips found a pulse, weak and racing. The hands moved to his shirt-front and tore both shirt and vest open.

A pitiful groan left Harry's lips. His eyelids fluttered and he stirred.

"Don't move," a familiar voice ordered. Harry stilled. His body felt strangely cold and numb; he was vaguely aware of warm hands on his chest. Sudden pressure brought a sharp throb of pain. His eyes shot open as he gasped.

The Shadow bent over him, a weird figure that Harry had once taken for Death itself and had since balked that same being time and again. He took Harry's hand and pressed it to the handkerchief which stanched the flow of blood. Keen eyes glowed as fiercely as ever. "Keep pressure on that." Every ounce of command seemed poured into that urgent hiss. "I'm calling Sayre."

Harry blinked, and The Shadow was gone. A phone in the nearby office was his probable destination. It was too far for Harry to hear over his own labored breathing.

Without his presence the room seemed colder. Harry realized that he was shivering. Foreboding darkness crept into his vision, retreating when he blinked, only to begin its advance anew. Keeping his heavy eyelids open was an effort of willpower. _Blood los_ s, some still-coherent thought supplied. _Shock. I'm going into shock._

He'd let his hand relax. Renewing the pressure brought another stab of pain and a sharp clarity to his muddled thoughts. This time he bit back the whimper that wanted to escape.

He wasn't sure how long it was before The Shadow returned. The passage of time seemed simultaneously endless and instantaneous. Shortly, finally, he felt a presence beside him. Folds of fabric settled over Harry. Harry belatedly realized that it was The Shadow's cloak, draped like a blanket over his shivering body. A hand relieved his in applying steady pressure. The other hand smoothed sweat-soaked hair away from Harry's forehead. Harry quelled the urge to lean into the points of warmth.

"Good," The Shadow murmured. The sharpness was gone from his voice, given way to gentle, soothing tones. "Easy. Sayre is on his way. Just rest."

Harry peered upward, focusing on The Shadow's eyes through the dark haze. Those, too, had softened, in a way Harry had never seen before. The expression puzzled him. He had seen The Shadow in triumph, in defeat, in righteous fury, even in a few rare moments of gentleness, but this was something new.

Harry felt the need to say something. "I'm not--" he gasped. "I'm not-- afraid-- to die." A flash in the eyes above him confirmed his half-delirious theory.

"I know," came the whispered response. Then, more firmly, "But you're not going to. I forbid it."

It hurt even to chuckle, but Harry couldn't have helped it for the world. Fear. It was fear. The dauntless Shadow was afraid -- for him. The absurd thought occurred to him that it was probably unhealthy for his heart to swell so.

"Yes, sir."


End file.
